31. Scarlett
THIRTY-ONE
SCARLETT
He stares at me with sadness in his fathomless blue-gray eyes, as I ask him the question I feared all the way here.
Am I broken? Right now, after confirming what I knew deep down, I believe I am.
It scares the shit out of me at what I'm capable of without even realizing it.The voice in my head sits silent for now, and I breathe a heavy sigh of relief at being given a reprieve.
"Absolutely not, Spit... um, Scarlett. You're not broken, not even close. You're a survivor of what this fucking world did to you, did to us."
Us. The word hits me like a bomb, and my body straightens in his tight hold.
My hand reaches up and gently strokes his bruised cheek.
Did he experience a childhood like mine?
There's so much I don't understand about what is happening to me, and how I arrived at this place in my life.
He says I'm a survivor, but there are lots of people out there who survived what I did, and far worse, and they're not out here mutilating and killing men in an altered state.
One thing's for sure: his arms around me feel like an unexpected heaven right now. The warmth radiating off his flesh helps to melt some of the chill I was feeling. Yet I know, despite the comfort, I have to find out the truth. "Us, as in you knew me before our night together?”
He breaks our connection, his body tensing below mine as he looks away, and I get the feeling that I might not like whatever he has to say next.
I quickly remove my fingers and push myself off his lap, needing the distance to clear my thoughts.
The corners of his mouth drip down with unhappiness at my actions, but I have to be firm.
I need to understand what is happening to me, and Xavier, as I've come to learn, is manipulative. I have to be careful with him.
"Yes, I've known you a long time, Scarlett. We lost touch for a while, when you ended up at a different home than I did after the fire." Different home? Fire? His confusing words have a thought niggling at the back of my mind, something that I've long pushed to the recesses and chosen to forget.
"I don't understand. I'm pretty sure I would remember you, Xavier.
" His eyes become hooded, and if I'm not mistaken, I see pain at my denial.
He drags his elegant fingers through his almost white hair, pushing it away from his forehead, and I flinch at the bruising visible there too.
Jesus, what the fuck did Jasper do, and if Xavier looks like this, what condition is Jasper in?
I can't imagine that Xavier wouldn't have fought back.
It's on the tip of my tongue to ask him about Jasper, yet I force myself to remain still and silent. Jasper's more than capable of taking care of himself, and right now I don't want to halt the possibility of getting the answers I seek.
He angles his head, as if listening to something I can't discern, his eyes flinching as if he's in pain, and he releases a frustrated sigh.
"We were in the same foster home for a while, the one on Elimina.
I was just a small boy, a runt really, pathetic, and too small for my age, and always starving.
I was always getting picked on by the other kids.
It didn't help that I would steal what meager food they had, when I was forced to go without by our foster father. "
Sadness permeates through me at the description he uses for himself.
His words bring up an image of a two-story house, with dirty blue siding and a cracked front window.
A front door that was once white, but looked more gray, was constantly streaked with dirty fingerprints, and seemed like a strong wind could take it down.
The porch was a rotting mess, falling apart and littered with broken items, and there were always kids out on it no matter the weather. It was safer to be outside than inside.
"You're almost nine years older than I am, Scarlett.
There were lots of other children there, of all ages, too many for the size of the house.
Most of the time, they left me alone or avoided me, and that was fine.
I didn't want anything to do with them, but you, Scarlett, I only had eyes for you.
There was something magical about you, your presence, the sound of your voice, maybe the way you tried to shield the younger kids from our foster father.
I thought you were an angel, sent to finally save me. "
My mind opens up, as if a thick curtain has been pulled back.
I see a brute of a man, a massive belly sagging over the waistband of his pants, with a thick, brown leather belt in his meaty hand, and small children cowering under a rickety table, or deep in a corner, fear radiating off them.
Amongst them is a scrawny little boy, wearing clothes that are too large and hang off of him, with a dirty face, a crusted, bloody lip, and almost white matted hair, that falls into his eyes.
Eyes that are the most amazing and unique shade of blue-gray, that remind me of the darkened sky on a stormy winter's day, filled with terror as the man raises the belt in his direction.
The others push him forward to save themselves, sacrificing him to the man's wrath.
As the leather swipes through the air, I feel myself darting in front of it, the sting burning through the flesh on my chest as it lands.
I grit my teeth and cry out, stumbling and then falling backward, and the boy tries to rush to help me rise.
Tears slide down his pale, bruised face, leaving tracks in the dirt that seems to coat him, as he mumbles rushed words I can't understand.
"Run," I groan. "Get out of here, all of you now!
" I scream as the belt whips once again, this time catching me on the shoulder.
The other children don't need to be told twice, as they scramble and push each other to get to safety.
All except the boy. He moves in front of me, staring at the man five or six times his size without flinching, and filled with defiance.
His lip trembles, but he refuses to move as the belt once more sails through the air.
"NO, LEAVE HIM ALONE! HE'S JUST A BABY!"
I push him behind me and toward the doorway, but he stumbles and tries to right himself, as a kick flies at my lower back, ripping a scream from me. "I help!" The little boy shouts, his hands fisted at his sides, but I shake my head no, and with my last remaining strength, I push him away again.
"Stupid little bitch, you think you can defy me?
Think you're in charge here!" The man screams as he reaches for my hair, yanking on the dark strands, until I feel some ripping out from the roots.
All the different pains mix together like a devastating inferno, yet I refuse to look away from the boy, not until he's safe.
"Run, hide, and don't come out until it's safe!" With huge, racking sobs which make his whole small body tremble, he runs from the room, just as a punch lands on the side of my face and blurriness fills my vision.
"You're remembering," Xavier startles me out of the memory, pain filling his features, and it's as if I'm seeing him for the first time.
A tear slides down my face as I crawl closer to him, rising on my knees to cradle his bruised face between my two hands.
Wonder and surprise mix within me as I stare at the man in front of me, but still see a semblance of that terrified little boy.
"You were the little white-haired boy. You brought me the bat that day the fire took everything. You... you saved... me."
He turns his head, his warm lips brushing against my palm as he kisses it gently.
His eyes meet mine, and in them there is a depth of suffering that only another survivor of the same cruelty can understand.
"You saved me first, not only once but over and over.
You kept the other kids from hurting me too, and I know it was you who would leave me food when he locked me in the closet.
" A kaleidoscope of memories runs quickly through my mind as I recall the events he's describing.
There were times he would sneak into my bed seeking comfort, and I would just hold him, and help banish his constant nightmares.
I thought after we were all removed from that foster home that I would never see him again.
Oh my God, how can this be? After all these years, he somehow found me.
No, not only did he find me, but he's the accomplice who's been helping me, as Ashmaker, serve justice to men just like our foster father.
He must see all the questions racing through my mind, painted on my face, 'cause he nods and pulls away, rising from the floor and reaching down to pull me up.
"This conversation needs a strong drink and better seating, Scarlett. "
I watch as he moves toward his drink cart, pulls a large knife from the waistband of his pants, and sets it down, before he pours us two tumblers of clear liquid.
He hands me one, and before I can even take a sip of mine, he's already downed his and is refilling his glass.
"I spent years looking for you after they moved us all.
I ended up in another house similar to the one we had just left, but I heard from the other kids that came and went that they finally moved you to a nice home.
I was happy for you, Scarlett. You deserved some peace, and a better life than the shit one you and I were handed. "
Jason and all his brutality pop into my mind, and tears slide down my face. "It wasn't a nice home, Xavier. It was a different type of hell. One I barely survived."
He nods in understanding, and that rips at my heart, knowing wherever he landed probably wasn't any better, and he suffered, but he was alone just like I was.
"I realized that a few years later, when I finally grew the courage to run away, and started the process of tracking you down.
" He motions for me to take a seat on his sofa, and I take a sip of my drink, grateful for the burn down my throat, and the warmth in my chest and stomach, while he swallows a sip of his own glass but stays where he is.
"You had gotten a scholarship to a fancy school.
I used what I had taught myself to hack into your socials and emails, and realized you wanted to go into law enforcement.
It made perfect sense based on our upbringing.
You wanted to save kids like us." He leans against the wall, his ankles crossing as his intense gaze meets mine.
"I never forgot you, couldn't even if I tried, Scarlett.
I followed you to your new school, and you were almost done with your degree by then.
At first, I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and were content.
I wasn't even sure I was going to let you know I was there while I lurked in the shadows. "
He drags his tattooed hand through his hair, the death moth rippling on his pale skin, the contrast between the two startling.
I get that it must either be a soothing technique or a sign of his anxiety, maybe both, my profiling skills working overtime.
It makes me wonder what he's so nervous to tell me.
It's not like I haven't realized we're both murderers.
I take him in, allowing my eyes to trail over his long legs encased in black denim, over his crotch area, which brings heat to my face, when I remember exactly what he's packing in there.
I force myself to keep going over his trim waist and defined chest, all of his tattoos on display on his arms, the form-fitting black t-shirt hiding nothing from my perusing glance.
His strong throat moves up and down as he swallows another sip, and I find myself wanting to lick it, and leave my teeth imprinted on it, like he did to my skin.
"Umm, Spitfire, you need to stop looking at me like that, or story time is over, and I'll have you bent over my sofa arm in the next second, and my cock slammed inside your pretty cunt." Embarrassment fills me at being caught ogling him, and my core clenches at his threat.
"Ummm," I clear my throat, feeling my cheeks warm as I meet his heated gaze. As much as I would like nothing more at this point, than to have him rip an orgasm from me, I need to hear the rest of his story. "Go on, Xavier, tell me the rest. I promise to behave."
He nods as he tears his gaze away and gets a far-off look.
"Imagine my surprise when I realized you were doing some stalking of your own.
My curiosity got the best of me, and I couldn't leave you alone, Scarlett.
I started to follow you everywhere. I even rented out a room in your rundown apartment building, from an old, drunk guy a few floors above you.
I broke in once, hid a cheap camera, and put a keystroke tracer on your laptop.
I needed to know what you were up to, and how I could protect you. "
"Oh my god, Xavier! You would have just been a young teen!" The horror of what he's describing hits me. He ran away from the system, followed me to another state, and stalked me, all while barely being in high school. "How the hell did you support yourself?" I question.
He flinches, as a dark expression crosses his features, and he refuses to meet my waiting gaze. "I did what I knew best: I stole, broke into places, and when that failed, I sold the only thing that ever had any value."
He sold himself. My chest tightens painfully at the image of a young Xavier all alone, and just trying to survive any way he could. "But you went to college. I saw the information when I researched you." Another pang of embarrassment soars over me at my admittance that I had been looking into him.
He gives me a naughty smirk that, despite his bruised face, promises a world of seduction before nodding. "Faked, all of it. I got my GED, and that's about it. Everything else I've forged, and all my skills have been earned through life experience."
My glance trails across the expensive loft, and its quality furnishings, with a bit of disbelief. He definitely doesn't look like he's hurting for money, and I'm not sure his journalistic career is paying him well enough for all of this.
"God, Spitfire, you usually have a better poker face. I'm very good at what I do."
I look up at him from below my lashes, and bite down on my lip, refusing to correct him on the nickname. It's growing on me. "What is it that you do, Xavier?"
"I destroy lives, Scarlett. I find your deepest, darkest secrets, and exploit them, using all the tools at my disposal."
Well, shit.